


Everything Gone Wrong

by Goron_King_Darunia



Category: Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World
Genre: Bad end, M/M, Nothing is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Richter's love for Aster is just there for inducing pain, Songfic, The Symphonia crew is technically in this, also this fic is technically, also this is technically Richter/Aster, and so is Marta Lualdi, but since this isn't a shippy fic there isn't any shippy stuff, but they don't really have central roles, with implications of Richter/Emil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29048895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goron_King_Darunia/pseuds/Goron_King_Darunia
Summary: For when the Bad Ending isn't bad enough. From the inciting incident of Ratatosk killing Aster to the logical conclusion if the bad ending had gone as terribly as possible. The implicit tragedy of Dawn of the New World.
Relationships: Richter Abend/Aster Laker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 3





	Everything Gone Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly finished before the pandemic hit last year, by which I mean 90% of the text was written, though there was an alternate ending. It took me until now to actually get it to the point I felt confident publishing it. Wrote it in 3 days, or at least wrote most of it in that time, and then spent quarantine trying to polish it up. Admittedly, I am not very good with writing Ratatosk, so that's where the struggle was. Big thanks to [Aerypear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerypear/pseuds/Aerypear) for helping with some lore, details, and of course Ratatosk's dialogue.
> 
> Based around the Twenty One Pilots' song ["Goner"](https://youtu.be/3J5mE-J1WLk) because I couldn't get this fic idea out of my head once I heard it and yeah, I'm a decade late to the song fic bandwagon and it's technically cringe now, but cringe culture is dead and killed it. Hope you all enjoy! Enjoy crying that is. Because I definitely did.

_I'm a goner_

Aster feels himself being forced away from the ground. The world is spinning. There’s an ache in his chest. Not quite burning, not quite crushing. He can’t really describe it. When he slams into the ground it’s cold and hard. He’s dizzy from more than being sent flying. He can feel it. He’s going to die.

_Somebody catch my breath_

The wind’s knocked out of him, and the pain in his chest makes it impossible to breathe. The panic that pours into his veins is infinitely greater than knowing his end is coming, and that’s already hard to bear. If things are going to end, there’s so much more he wants to say to Richter, but he can’t. His body is failing.

_I'm a goner_ _  
_ _  
_ Richter can’t feel his limbs anymore. Everything is reduced down to the pounding in his chest. The fear. The sweat dripping down his cheek. Aster isn’t moving. But that can’t be. Aster’s _always_ moving. Aster has never sat still for one moment in his life.

_Somebody catch my breath_

Richter is at Aster’s side in a matter of moments. He’s beginning to hyperventilate. Aster can’t be gone. He can’t be. He wasn’t even an adult yet. Aster’s limp, but he’s not dead-body limp. No. Richter’s seen dead things. Aster lives. But for how long? Richter’s brain is a mess. He’s trembling. He turns Aster over, cradling the blond in his arms. Aster’s lips are wet with blood, and his eyes are already losing focus. _Martel, please. If you are indeed a goddess… save him. Save him..._

_I wanna be known by you_

Aster’s never said it before. And he regrets having waited so long. He’s known Richter all these years now. And even with his failing vision, Aster can see. The other is still so handsome in those glasses. That soft smile of his… the way his eyes crinkle up. Aster would give anything to see that one last time.  
_  
_ _I wanna be known by you_ _  
_ _  
_ Richter’s throat is dry. He wants to ask the stupidest things. “Are you okay?” “What do you need?” “How can I help?” But he knows the answers. Aster is not okay. He needs whatever just happened to not have happened. And there’s nothing Richter can do to reverse time and put Aster back together… But he wants to ask anyway, just to hear that voice he loves so much one more time.

_I'm a goner, somebody catch my breath_ _  
_ _  
_ Aster’s struggling. His body is heavy. He’s not long for this world. The absence of air in his lungs makes the ache in his chest so much more painful. But goddess, if instinct wasn’t a powerful thing. His body fights down a gulp of air. Aster’s sure one of his lungs is punctured. The sound of the air in his lungs is wet and garbled, and there’s a high pitched whistling in the mix. It’s no mystery why he’s tasting blood. He grabs Richter’s arm, holding fast to this last anchor. He wants to stay in this world as long as he can.

_I'm a goner, somebody catch my breath_

Aster’s chest is spasming. The blond can barely take a gasp of air. Richter’s mind is a blur of thoughts. _What can I even say to him? What can I do?_ Richter wants to comfort Aster, but he can’t even calm himself enough to provide support. He wants to say “You’re going to make it. Everything’s going to be fine.” He wouldn’t believe a word of it himself. Aster is suffering. And Richter can’t bear to watch it. Richter could have gone his whole life without seeing Aster this way. Every time he tries to force something out, his breath catches. His voice comes in crackling, anguished squeaks. His eyes are burning.

_I wanna be known by you_

Aster can feel himself slipping. He can’t even see Richter’s face anymore. What can he even say? Famous last words and all that. Should he tell Richter to run? After all, there’s very little stopping Ratatosk from attacking further. Should he give Richter advice? Without Ratatosk’s help, everything will go sour. The world is in a bad state as it is, and Richter has no direction without him. Should he say what he’s always wanted to say? He tries to breathe the other’s scent one more time. How could he let this happen? In all these years, he’s never said any of the things he’s wanted to. And now he can’t. He wants to say that Richter’s hair is his favorite shade of red. He wants to say that he’s treasured the time they had together. He wants to say that the only regret he has about the time they’ve shared is that there isn’t going to be more of it. He wants to say that he loves the stars in the summer and that particular soft green of Richter’s eyes, the cool breezes in Sybak and the warmth of their bed. He wants to give Richter his mom’s address. He wants to tell Richter where all his good stuff is hidden. He wants to say “I love you.”

_I wanna be known by you_

Richter wants to say something. A selfish thing. He wants to beg Aster not to leave him. He knows Aster has no power over this. He knows if Aster is going to die here, there’s no way Aster himself can stop it. And begging Aster to stay alive would only make the blond feel that much worse in his final moments. He holds Aster close to him, still unable to get words out, even the selfish ones. All he can manage is a terrified, raspy “Aster.” It’s not comforting at all. And it’s not any of the selfish things he’s desperate to say. Aster’s been everything to him. _How will I ever go on without you? What am I supposed to do now?_ He wants to say that he’ll make sure Aster is remembered. He wants to let the boy know he’ll be immortalized in Richter’s heart, a name etched deep and bold into every fiber of his being. He wants to tell Aster what a joy it’s been, knowing him, being with him, laughing with him. He wants to let Aster know that he’ll save this world in his stead. He’ll save the world Aster died for. He wants to ask morbid things. “Where do you want to be buried? If I bring donuts to your grave, will you come? If there’s an afterlife, and you can reach me from there, even if it hurts more than dying, will you come back to me? If you meet the Goddess Martel, can you flip her the bird for me?” Goddess… Richter wants to say everything. He’s loved the boy for so long.

_Though I'm weak and beaten down_

_I'll slip away into the sound_

Aster’s vision goes dark, the tears in his eyes from more than just the physical pain. It’s all over. And he can’t muster the strength to say anything. He tries one last time to summon the vision of Richter’s smile. He tries to wear one of his own. He hears Richter call his name. The pain in that voice is more than Aster can bear. He summons whatever air is left in his lungs. He tries. He tries so hard. He forces his diaphragm up, the last of his strength fading. “R-Richt--” He remembers nothing else. Everything falls away. It’s dark. It’s quiet.  
  
Richter freezes. That last breath in Aster’s chest leaks out. The spasming stops. As if he’s sinking, Richter feels the blond’s weight steadily resting more and more on his arms until his form loses all shape. He’s no longer human. He’s just a bag of meat, bones, flesh, and fat barely retaining Aster’s shape. For how could it be Aster when there was no shine in those eyes, no warmth in that heart? As Richter shakily lays it down, this empty vessel, it comes to rest in an unnatural way. Death was supposed to look like sleep, wasn’t it? But no. There was no way to confuse the two. The corpse laid flush against the arm, head hanging from the neck, legs splayed. There was no way of mistaking this for a comfortable slumber.  
  
Richter’s body is numb to everything but the rage and despair boiling in his chest. He doesn’t feel the hilt of the sword in his hand, or the weight when he makes a wild swing. He doesn’t feel his opponent’s sword cut into his back, or the resistance against his blade as he carves into the Spirit’s body. He doesn’t hear Aqua’s sobs or the clink of the core hitting the floor. No… When the battle is over, all he can think about is Aster. He returns to that _thing_ and kneels. Looking at the body is almost unbearable. The tears begin their escape. He reaches out a trembling hand to close those lifeless eyes.

He only becomes aware of himself when the red sphere rolls into view, pulling him from his daze. He asks about it, a distraction from his looming breakdown and the pain of his wounds. It’s a core. At least, that’s what he gathers from what Aqua tells him. A slumbering form of the Summon Spirit. It brings that monster, that devil, that demon back to life.

Before he can even think of how he’ll destroy it, it’s gone, whisked away by a grim figure, some sort of doglike creature. “Tenebrae.” That’s what Aqua cried out. Richter tries to pursue, but he’s tired. He’s broken. His body is ailing. When Tenebrae vanishes, all he can do is return to the splayed form in the stained white coat and kneel, weeping. He wipes away the blood, lays the body in a comfortable pose, a funeral pose, with the arms crossed over the chest. It hides the wound, at least a little. It hurts to look at it. But it hurts less now.  
  
Then the whispering begins. Tainted promises from beyond the door. The demons of Nifelheim are delighted by his despair and the way he brought the Spirit to his knees. Richter doesn’t care if they’re lying or not when he makes the deal. The price means nothing to him. The safety of the world seems an inconsequential gamble when the prize is the one person that made the world worth living in. Besides, he plans on destroying Ratatosk anyway. As far as he’s concerned, he has nothing left to lose.

_The ghost of you is close to me_

_I'm inside out, you're underneath_

Aqua helps him heal, bandaging his bloodied back. He’s lucky to be alive, but he doesn’t feel lucky. Even as the centurion wrapped his wounds, Richter refused to leave Aster’s side. Aqua would comfort him if she knew how, but there’s nothing she can ever say or do to fix what has been done here today. _How could Ratatosk have done this? To me? To Richter? To Aster?_ Aqua feels her sense of his core dwindling. Tenebrae has taken him far away. Aqua’s not sure she even wants to feel his presence anymore.  
  
Richter mourns, the pain in his body but a trifle compared to the pain in his soul. Aster was everything. Friend, confidant, guiding light. Aster was the whole world. Now, all that’s left is a husk. The way to the surface is steep and long. Winding paths through roots of a long-dead tree. Every step is a burden, fighting his body, fighting the weight of it. Aster’s stiffened form is easier to carry than the tears. The conditions down in the Ginnungagap have made the rigor set in, and it’s a painful reminder that the precious weight he’s carrying will never move again. Richter doesn’t remember the last time he cried, but he’s certain he’ll never forget the feeling of it now. It doesn’t seem to stop. The light of the surface isn’t welcoming. The rays of the waning sun are mocking, harsh, cruel. He lays the body down. He lets the blond face the sunset. 

He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be consumed by the cold, dark earth. It should be him dead. The blast was aimed at him. If he’d been quicker… if Aster hadn’t been so reckless… if they’d never come at all. So many ifs. So many paths. And he was on the one that led here, to hands in the dirt, scraping away at the skin of an empty world, descending… It’s not anywhere deep enough, but it’s gone from dusk to dawn, now. Richter admits defeat. It’s not what the boy deserves, but it’s all he can do.  
  
Aster’s body is cold when Richter lifts it. He presses his lips to the boy’s cheek: a first and final kiss. He lowers Aster into the wound in the earth, scattering flowers across him, whatever sparse weeds could be found on this island… And for a moment it was beautiful. For a fleeting second, Richter could believe that Aster was just sleeping. But as soon as the soothing notion arrived, it left without a whisper of comfort remaining. Not sleep, but death. Richter knew it to be true. Then came the hardest part of all. The dirt. He couldn’t bear to watch as he released a fistful of soil over the body. He couldn’t stop his tears as he poured pile after pile of bitter earth over the blond he’d adored. He’s already forgetting Aster’s face. Or at least, he fears he is. He’ll never see it again. Only in his memories. And to expect it to stick as vividly as he wants it to for the thousand years he must endure? Impossible. Even if the demons make good on their end of the bargain, Aster shouldn’t be confined to the underground for whatever length of life he regains. If the demons can even bring him back in a body of his own. That visage he loved so dearly, even if everything goes right, he may never see it again. In fact, he expects not to. Because if he had that kind of luck, Aster wouldn’t be beneath him right now, in a shallow grave.  
  
He places rocks and shells on the mound, marking the resting place as best he can. Aster would settle for no less, after all. The tears keep flowing. He drapes himself over the pile, seeking comfort in the discomfort of its embrace. His eyes ache, spent from emotion and a long night digging. His body craves sleep and his soul craves an irreversible extension of it. His limbs are heavy. His back is searing with pain. But in spite of it all, he sleeps. He dreams of burrowing into the earth to be with his beloved, covered in flowers, lying together in eternity. He dreams of slipping into the sea and becoming one with the waters crashing at the shore, to protect this land, this beautiful and terrible place where Aster’s body rests forever.

_I've got two faces, blurry's the one I'm not_

“Ratatosk. We killed somebody.” Emil didn’t know this was something he could do - delve into his own mind and speak with that mysterious other side of himself - but now that he was here, speaking to the other side of himself, the side that had tried to keep everything from him, he had to say it. 

“So?” Ratatosk clicked his tongue, red eyes staring the other down. “Their lives are like a flash, there and gone instantly.” He placed a hand on his hip, projecting a cocky attitude, though his stone features betrayed the uncertainty in his eyes.

“That doesn’t excuse killing people, Ratatosk! Richter and Aster came to you, came to _us_ , to save the world!”

“They came to me and ordered me around! Waltzed into my dwelling and without even proper etiquette demanded I restore order to mana!”

“What does etiquette matter!? You expect them to use old traditions while the world is dying?”

“They had access to people who _know_ it, Emil! You expect me to turn a blind eye, especially now when I _know_ they knew Sheena!? She helped people at Sybak all the time-- Stole Corrine from Sybak! They knew her! Yet they burst in, demand I correct mana, and tell me everything’s alright because there is a new world tree? One germinated out of desperation to slap a cheap dressing over the gaping wound of their mistakes, after killing _my_ tree? I’m supposed to put blind faith into mortals? Mortals who waged war, separated their worlds, waged more wars that bled their worlds dry? Mortals that _killed my tree_ and then scrambled to make a new one as a quick fix with an ill-fitted summon spirit to protect it - a spirit who lacks the proper means and functions and is a byproduct of mortals and their mistakes! Mortals do _all this_ and I’m meant to _not_ question if this tree would survive past the first few years of its existence!?”

“But Ratatosk!” Emil’s eyes are misty. He and Ratatosk were one and the same, or at least, they used to be. And what Emil was feeling… he knew it was what Ratatosk was feeling. “Ratatosk… what we’re feeling right now. This ache in our chest… We made Richter feel this way too! Don’t you understand?! You did to him what the death of your tree did to you!”

Ratatosk clenches his fists. “Don’t you dare try to tell me what I’m feeling. What that bastard half-elf is feeling. The two are in no way comparable. That boy was doomed to die. My tree could have gone tens of thousands of years, maybe even eternally, if those parasites hadn’t--”

“But I’ve felt it!” Emil stomps his foot. “I’ve felt it before! When mom and dad… when Reysol and Lana died. It’s the _same! It’s the same feeling!_ Grief!”

“Yeah, sure, you can claim the emotion is the same, but I assure you it’s absolutely different.” Ratatosk grumbled dismissively, “It barely scratches the surface. Especially when they’re not your deaths to mourn anymore.”

Emil falls to his knees, recalling the image, the memory. Lana reached out to him to tell him to go to their aunt Flora in Luin. Hands balled on his lap as he rolled over the bitter event that flashed behind his eyes. Palmacosta drench in blood, their vacant eyes, the stench of ash, smoke, and burning flesh that filled the air. They had happier times right? He reaches for those warm memories of childhood, the ones that wouldn’t have included Aunt Flora and Uncle Alba, but he came up blank. There was nothing before the night of the Purge. Even the memory of Thomas was a blurry fabrication, cliff notes that he had gleaned from what others told him and nothing else. Thomas was in the real Emil’s life… not his life. Long autumn school days and happy childhood summers, memories he was so certain he’d had, were vacant. They were never his memories. They were just gaps in a mental bookshelf that once held hefty blank tomes with convincing titles that he could pull up whenever he needed a suitable ruse to play his part as Emil. Impressions of what a human life should be.

However, the fact that those weren’t his memories, and that the ones that _did_ belong to him were of people precious to someone else, didn’t matter. Pain is pain, loss is loss, no matter how detached. He mourned their deaths, wanted revenge for their deaths, just as much as he mourned for his tree and spouted death threats upon mortals. Emil pulls himself together, countering in desperation in hopes of not caving into that empty void where childhood memories belonged, “I agree. I agree that it hurts. Because it’s fresh, because it’s new. Because for you it’s only been a short time. It’s the same for me.”

“That’s not the same.” Ratatosk asserts, voice cracking almost imperceptibly.

“How is it not!?” Emil interjected. “You mourned their deaths too, Ratatosk! You witnessed that night as much as I did! Regardless of the reason we stole the name of a boy who’d lost everything, fate or chance, we still felt the impact the real Emil may have felt!”

“Shut up! If I had it my way, we wouldn’t have run around pretending to be some wimp who couldn’t be arsed enough to take on their own damn dirty work!”

“Oh, so if you had it your way, we’d also not be running around in the form of a boy that we killed too, is that it?” Emil bit back. “I know you didn’t do it to hurt Richter, but--”

“Obviously, Emil! And of course I didn’t intend to. Do you think I actually care what that bastard thinks? He’s the reason we’re even _having_ this conversation to begin with, yet you’d throw yourself to kiss the land he walks on regardless. Nevermind the fact that the self-righteous fool has pacted with demons who can and will ravage Aselia if he succeeds in breaking the seal just to bring one damned mortal back to life. Do I _have_ to remind you of this aching pain we feel!? Sure, believe _him_ for all I care.”

Emil pursed his lips before shaking his head, “And how is that any different from what you wanted to do? You wanted to burn the world for the sake of your tree!”

“How? Didn’t you learn anything from Raine’s rants on history?” he scoffed. “Maybe you should have gone to a town where you would have been forced to take classes instead of pretending to have memories of nothing. You’re being stupid, you know.” 

“ _I’m_ stupid? Not all of my memories are fake, and I wouldn’t have needed to pretend had we not killed Aster! How many times do I have to repeat myself before you get it?! Richter thinks so poorly of us because actions have consequences!”

“You’re only saying that because you think so highly of his opinion! He can think of me however he wants, It’s his fault for disturbing me!”

“You don’t deny that actions have consequences though!” Emil clenched his eyes momentarily as if to steel himself. “Or is Richter cutting us down with his axe and sword something so harrowing that you refuse to reflect upon it?!”

Ratatosk's face became one of rage. “How dare you--!?”

“I was _there_ , Ratatosk. I lived that, just as much as you have. I’ve suffered nightmares of it.”

“And!? You have _no_ idea how often I’ve had to relive it, Emil. Don’t bark about something that’s mutual.” Ratatosk retorts.

“How was I meant to know?! You call me pitiful and weak, but I’m not able to see half of the things that should be affecting me! So, I’m sorry that I had no idea, but I didn’t ask to be put in the dark! You never even told me!”

“Why should I even tell you anything? You’re no better than that half-elf. You think of me as a monster, too. Don’t deny it.”

“Because you threatened to destroy the world! You lashed out at Lloyd! You could have asked him for Lumen’s core! You didn’t have to attack him! You threatened Richter, Aster -- so many people just because of the death of your tree! Something that everyone seemed to have mourned the loss of, but only we could have been aware of how much it means to us! Richter and Aster… they couldn’t have possibly known that!”

“Couldn’t have known!?” Ratatosk flares again. “After the numerous hints I dropped for them to get lost!? If you’re that detached from the memory, then clearly you weren’t there for it. For any of it.” His eyes narrow at Emil. He knew Emil to be right to a degree. However, this was more than just his tree. This was more than bellyaching and refusal to mourn over his tree.

“Of course I was there, Ratatosk! I remember your threats to them! ‘Awaken Centurions, go and eradicate mankind’ is exactly what you said! And You-” Emil caught himself, poring over the memory of the event. Aqua and Tenebrae hadn’t moved at the command… and he ordered sleeping centurions. There was no way he could have summoned them. “You…” Emil searched Ratatosk’s face, “You were bluffing?”

“So what if I was?” He crossed his arms.

“But why?”

“Does it matter? It didn’t work anyway and then that bastard refused to shut up, took my threat seriously--”

“Ratatosk, of course they took your threat seriously! That’s why Richter stayed! It’s why he fought you! He thought you were really going to--”

“It still doesn’t change the fact that they kept running their mouths off and wouldn’t leave me alone!” Ratatosk yelled, refusing to budge.

“Maybe he thought you would have been more reasonable than a brick wall had they explained.”

“It changes _nothing._ Why even discuss this with me if _I_ have to constantly repeat myself as well, Emil. They ignore proper spirit etiquette when they have the resources to know it, they demand I fix shit after I had just woken up to learn that mortals destroyed my tree, and they think running to me to fix their asinine problems that they constantly cause for themselves will just make everything better. Wake up, Emil! You have the front row seats to witness the carnage mortals can cause. Richter proves my point by weaponizing the Vanguard like this!”

“Regardless of if they had done things properly, it doesn’t change the fact that you killed Aster! It doesn’t change the fact that you lashed out and struck the first blow. We’ve already lived this once, Ratatosk! I was so angry with Lloyd, I wanted revenge. I didn’t want to actually hear what he had to say, I was done with listening after being told “Not again with Palmacosta.” I thought of him as nothing but a ruthless murderer and had I not actually been stopped, to learn the truth, we could have been responsible for his death too! Lloyd didn’t kill Lana and Reysol, just like Aster didn’t kill our… _your_ tree.” Emil doesn’t feel he’s earned the right to call the tree his own. He doesn’t remember it the way Ratatosk does, he’s sure of that. “The people of this world aren’t the same ones who killed your tree. That was 4000 years ago...”

Ratatosk was now looking at the ground of the room, white with spinning colors of red and green. “5000 years of being used, lied to, watching as mortals defiled the use of mana, bled the world dry… being forced to watch Kharlan wither and _I’m_ the one who struck the first blow in your eyes.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Just leave me alone. Just… Just go.”

_I've got two faces, blurry's the one I'm not_

Everyone likes Emil better. Ratatosk can feel it. Marta says otherwise, but he knows. When they’d called Emil a fabrication - which was true, but only half true - Marta had jumped to his aid. “He’s not a fabrication! He’s real! The time we spent together was real and meaningful!”

But her attempts to defend him, Ratatosk, are empty. She says she doesn’t want him to disappear, but she let Emil seal him. He has time to dwell on these things now, alone in his mind, watching Emil go about on this stupid Hel’s Gambit*. No one else in the group seemed to mourn his absence. Yes. Everyone likes Emil better. 

“... So that is what they really want. They can’t stand me being around. Let alone try to fix their problems. And the easier it is to get rid of me, then the better. Heh… They would prefer Emil anyway. Not some hardass who is still bitter about the whole damn world and the people on it.”

And yet, it was Emil, the fool, feeling more than thinking. He wants to make up for everything by letting the others kill him. As if that undoes everything. As if that makes up for the sins they committed. Tenebrae is as loyal as ever, though it’s good he’s that way. Even if it felt bitter.

“Everyone would rather have that weakling than me? Then… maybe it really is for the best that I’m sealed away.”

_I need your help to take him out_

“Verius, can you really keep Ratatosk contained?”

“I will do what your heart has decided. Keeping Ratatosk sealed will rely only on such.”

“But what about Ratatosk and his heart? Is it really alright to make one of our hearts more heard than the other?”

“Your hearts are connected. His ambitions are… nebulous. Right now, his greatest wish is to separate from you. His emotions towards you are complex. He wants himself and others to believe he resents you. Wants others, but most of all himself, to think of you as weaker than he. And yet he cannot deny that you were part of him, though he doesn’t wish it so. With such conflictions in his feelings, I cannot act on any of them until his heart and mind have come to a decision. Your heart has decided. However, as much as you’d like to deny it, your reason for the decision is not one of selflessness. Regardless, as long as your resolve remains, I will continue holding the seal.”

“Good… maybe this will go more smoothly if he stays sealed. I hope so, anyway. Besides… I wouldn’t want to put him through this. If the bits I remember from when Richter-- well, let’s just say it probably won’t be pleasant. If Ratatosk remembers the way I do… or more than I do… then maybe I can do this for him. As a favor.”

_I need your help to take him out_

“I’m sorry, everyone. I’m so sorry. It seems that… Verius... can k-keep me from fading away. But Verius can’t s-stop Ratatosk.” He can play the bad guy for just this one moment, he’s done it for all of Luin before. He can handle this! Even though every part of his heart screams out against this. Hurting himself to ensure his friends will have a brighter future... They’ll have to endure being sad at first, but if he plays it right, they’ll justify it to themselves. “There was no other choice.” This is fine… This. Is. Fine. He’ll make up for everything they did, even if it means hurting himself one last time.

_Though I'm weak and beaten down_

_I'll slip away into this sound_

_The ghost of you is close to me_

_I'm inside out, you're underneath_

_Though I'm weak and beaten down_

_I'll slip away into this sound_

_The ghost of you is close to me_

_I'm inside out, you're underneath_

There were only two ways this could end. Either he killed himself or they killed him. And he was so ashamed he’d even tried the latter. He’d hurt Marta. He’d hurt his friends. It seemed there was more of Ratatosk in him than he would have liked to admit. “I should have done this from the beginning.” Emil pierces through his chest, his body dissolving into light. Raine runs to him and tries to stop it, but it’s too late. Tenebrae keeps the others away. “This is what he wanted. Do not interfere.” Despite the pain, in spite of how he knows this will be the end, there is a smile on Emil’s face. Everything would be alright now, right? He does his best to block out the cries of his friends, clinging to the happy memories of his travels with them. All this to protect them. He allows himself to succumb to the oblivion that awaits. In the end, even when he knew it was selfish, he was glad this was the way things ended. By his own hand. Even if he held just a small number of regrets.

_Don't let me be gone_

Marta lashes out at Richter. “If you hadn’t started all this, Emil would still be alive!”

“Emil chose this himself. Do you really want to tarnish his memory by refusing his kindness?”

“You’re just saying that because you got what you wanted! He’s gone because of you!”

“I was prepared to burn here forever to undo what I did. I lost the right to that the moment Emil defeated me. His actions are his own, and I’ll respect them. This is how _he_ wanted to save the world.” But it’s a lie. Richter is on the verge of tears.

_Don't let me be gone_

“How can you even say that?!” Marta screams. “There has to have been another way! He should have let us help him! We could have--!”

“There’s nothing that could be done!” Richter snaps.

Marta swallows air, surprised at Richter’s audacity. “If you hadn’t started all this.” She repeats herself. “We were _there_ when Emil... No Ratatosk, was in pain from you damaging the seal!”

Tenebrae interjects. “The door cannot be sealed by normal means once it has been forced open.” There are gaps in the door. Hairline cracks. Places where the aperture has been bent and frayed. The flames of Nifelheim radiate from within. “Richter does make a point. Lord Ratatosk’s options were limited once he’d breached the seal.”

_Don't let me be gone_

“Emil would hate to see us arguing.” Richter sighs, tending to his wounds. “Just think for a moment. What could you have done… What could any of us have done? What I broke was too big to fix.”

“But you-- your plan! We could have… Colette could have given you the Cruxis Crystal! You could have sealed the door! That was your plan all along wasn’t it!?”

“Do you really think that’s a fate he would want for me? For any of us? He heard as well as you did what my plan was and yet he continued with his. If he wanted me to seal the door, he would have had me do it. What better fate for a sinner like me? Sitting at the gates of hell forever, paying for my mistakes. But Emil didn’t want that.” Richter tries to muster a laugh if only to cover the sting of acknowledging this final courtesy from Emil. “He wanted to spare me. Spare all of us. But maybe you’re right… perhaps if I’d seen that in him sooner… things might not have gotten this far.”

_Don't let me be gone_

“So you admit it then? You admit that this is your fault!”

“Marta, stop.” Lloyd insists.

“No! He said it himself. If he had known Emil would do this, he would have changed his behavior! He knows it’s his fault! He knows it is!”

“I won’t stop you from thinking that way.” Richter looks away, unable to meet Marta’s eyes. “Hate me all you want. Someone like me has no right to tell you to do otherwise.”

“You’re right, you don’t!” Marta moves to strike Richter, but Lloyd holds her back.

“Marta, that’s enough! This isn’t going to bring Emil back!”

“He let Emil die!”

“Lord Emil did what he had to. For Aster. You. For Richter. For all of us.” Tenebrae says, hovering above Ratatosk’s core. Even if Richter hadn’t forced the door, Emil might have chosen other equally drastic means of atonement.”

“What?! Tenebrae, how could you even say--!?”

“Did you never notice? How Lord Emil changed when he found out who he was? He traveled the world making amends, mending bridges, saying goodbyes. He wasn’t sure he’d be returning.”

“But I thought--”

“You thought that if you’d all succeeded and managed to fix things that he’d just be free to come back with you? Even if this had been salvageable, the damage done would have been catastrophic, and Lord Emil felt so terribly about everything that happened. Even if he had lived, even without the responsibilities, he carried a burden that you fail to comprehend.”

“But he… he never would have made such a rash decision if Richter hadn’t forced the door!”

“I suppose he never did tell you how guilty he felt. For Aster. For Richter. For Ratatosk. For you.”

Marta shrinks back. “Well..”

“If you knew Lord Emil half as well as you claim, you should know better than anyone. Even before Richter opened the door, Lord Emil wanted to--”

“But he didn’t have to die to fix things! I told him not to blame himself!”

“Marta.” Zelos interrupted. “Maybe it’s just my unique experience in the area, but surely you caught glimpses? I had a feeling he was planning something drastic. Not this, or at least I hoped it wouldn’t be but… The way he talked when we spoke. He didn’t hide it well with me, and you spent the most time with him so…” Zelos shuts up when he can’t find a way of saying what he wants without making Marta seem willfully oblivious.

“Even I had hoped he wouldn’t take it this far.” Tenebrae hangs his head.

“But he chose his path. He was a lot braver than I gave him credit for.” Richter rasps, voice cracking. “Just like me… he could have turned back so many times. He could have stopped. But I made my choices. He made his. And it’s all come down to this.”

_Don't let me be!_

Richter stands, dusting himself off. “Take me. Do what you will. I have many sins to answer for, and if the ways I’ve wronged you can be compensated here, I’ll bear them.”

Marta wants to hurt him, but Lloyd is right. It would be petty to take her frustrations out on him physically. Especially because that seemed to be exactly what he wanted. She clenches her fists. “No. You’ll be coming back with me. You’ll face what you’ve done, with me and Daddy.”

“Very well.”

_Don't let me be!_

“Richter Abend, you stand accused of aiding and abetting, coercion, conspiracy to commit a crime, and murder of the first degree. I understand you confessed to these crimes. For the murder of one Aster Laker, how do you plead?”

“Guilty.”

Rilena is sitting in the back. She knew he would try this. She forced Norton to come. She’s been a good little researcher. She has papers they’d done together, evidence that Richter had helped certain other researchers repay debts. Despite his status as a half-elf, there was a good rapport between him and his peers at Sybak. Especially Aster. Rilena stays, a character witness for Richter. She isn’t going to let him throw everything away like this.

“On the charge of coercion of one Brute Lualdi, how do you plead?”

“Guilty.”

Another day, another hearing. Another nail in the coffin.

“On the charge of conspiracy to commit treason and restore the Sylvarant Dynasty with the help of the Vanguard party, how do you plead?”

“Guilty.”

The crows are perching. Death is near.

“On the count of aiding and abetting in the Blood Purge, how do you plead?”

“Guilty.”

There was much deliberation: several hearings, an eternity in court. The day finally came.

“Richter Abend, on the charge of first degree murder, you have been found not guilty.”

Rilena’s eyes are brimming with hope.

“On the charge of concealing a death, guilty.”

Her faint smile fades.

“Perjury.” Guilty. “Coercion.” Guilty. “Conspiracy.” Guilty. “Aiding and abetting.” Guilty, guilty, guilty.

“In accordance with our laws, as a half-elf, such crimes are punishable by hanging or beheading.”

“That’s not fair!” Rilena shouts, approaching the front of the court. “You know the mandate! Half-elves are to be tried in accordance with the laws that apply to humans! The Chosen--!”

The gavel strikes sharply. “Order! Come to order or I shall hold you in contempt of court.” Rilena reluctantly falls silent. “Now, seeing as these laws are outdated, I’m inclined to grant you a stay of execution. I sentence you to life imprisonment with the possibility of parole.” Before the gavel could strike, Richter raises his voice.

“No.”

“... I beg your pardon?”

“I said ‘no.’ Execute me.”

“Richter, what are you even saying?! I fought so hard for you!” Rilena shouts.

“I didn’t ask you for that,” Richter says flatly. “I don’t want special treatment. If the law says I must die, then I must die.”

“But the law _doesn’t--”_ Rilena grumbles before cutting herself off. It’s no use arguing with him. He decided his fate. “Your honor, he’s clearly suicidal. Don’t listen to him.”

“ _My desire to die is none of your concern!”_ Richter bellows. “Your honor, I would like to make another confession.”

There was uproar from the crowd, but Richter’s voice rang clear. “I am the reason all this happened. I was the one who angered Ratatosk. I caused Aster’s death. I bartered with the fate of this world to gain the power of the demonic realm. I militarized the Vanguard. And I would do all of it again.”

“What are you-- Your Honor! Your honor, he’s obviously gone insane. He’s delirious with grief. Don’t listen!”

The jury is in uproar.

“I broke open the door to the demonic realm! And I killed the only guardian, Ratatosk!”

“He’s lying!”

“If you let me live, the demons will come pouring out. I’m their anchor to this world.”

“Please! Please stop this!” Rilena begs.

The jury is rioting, and the audience is in disorder.

“What do you hope to gain by dying!? Do you think Aster would want this? Do you?! If you make them kill you, then that’s it! It’s over!”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

The room is cleared. Court reconvenes the next day. The jury deliberates.

When the verdict reaches Lloyd and the others, Colette bursts into tears.

_I'm a goner, somebody catch my breath_

Richter’s not afraid of what will happen to him in prison. He’s afraid of what won’t. He’s tried to have drugs smuggled in, but he doesn’t have the right connections. He’s thought of hanging himself with the sheets, but there’s no room for enough of a drop for a clean break, and trying to strangle himself leaves him too much time to struggle and undo himself. He’s picked fights with the biggest guys in the yard. Apart from a few bruises and what might even be called a friend, nothing has come of it. Besides, even the big ones know not to knock anyone around too much. No one wants to add to their sentence. No one but Richter. Richter has even tried getting the guards to end him. So far he’s only gotten a painful lesson of what it feels like to be at the end of a stun gun. And it’s painful for the wrong reason. 

Rilena, Colette, and the others come to visit, but it’s usually the girls that bother to stay and try to help him, though Genis does an amicable job of showing up between studying and whatever else he does. Richter doesn’t really pay attention to the details after all. No reason to get attached when he’s just one good accident away from being where he wants to be. He gets care packages and the guards buy him chocolates and the good shampoo when the monthly special purchase rolls around, even though he never asks for these things.

Rilena sends him donuts. Richter wants to ask her to stop, but the comfort they give him is just barely worth the pain they bring with their memories. He’s tried to use them as an excuse to start fights, but when he gets into an uproar about a donut being missing, even though no one took it, someone in his cell block always manages to come up with something for “compensation.” One time he got a box of cookies out of the deal. Good ones. He’s since stopped trying.

Some of the inmates give him things. Bids for protection from some of the weaker men, encouragement from his peers, appeasements from some others who were in the Vanguard too, who still remember and respect him. Some of them seem to want him as their top dog. He’s a half-elf after all. Here for life if he botches his parole hearings. Some of the guards seem to want that as well. Richter has an air about him. He commands respect, but is amicable and easy to manipulate. When he’s not trying to get himself killed, he’s a model prisoner, and the warden thinks he can do good things with that. But Richter has no interest in such things. There was a reason he left heading the Vanguard to Brute, and it was more than just him trying to keep his hands clean. He doesn’t want to be a leader. Especially not now. Not when all he wants is to become a corpse.

Rilena has tried everything. She’s tried to involve him on projects, to keep his mind occupied. He wants no part in it. Even if he did, it’s too hard to keep up with deadlines when he can’t communicate with her on a regular basis. She sends science texts and studies with certain chapters ripped out. The prison will only allow the theoretical stuff. Richter barely gets past a few pages before he can’t even understand what he’s reading anymore. He can’t retain anything. She tries softer things after Colette’s suggestion. Artificial plants and flowers. Small stuffed toys. She saves up for a weighted blanket for the holidays and gets him copies of the few pictures of Aster she has left. The pictures are the only thing that seems to help at all. She tries a coloring book. One of the therapeutic adult ones. Highly detailed pictures of animals and paisley patterns with tiny sections. He does one in pencils, another in watercolor, and three in marker. Felt tip pens are the only things he’s allowed in his room and the library is too far to go for him just to color and keep his mind from destroying itself. But even that gets dull. Even that fails to bring any semblance of joy. Richter becomes the only man to ever kill a succulent through neglect.

The guards are concerned with how little he keeps in his cell and his participation in other activities. The only real constants are showing up to mess on time on Fridays for the pasta pesto and the pictures of Aster taped to the wall beside his bed. He gives stuff away to the other prisoners on the regular. Sometimes they show up in his room again. Sometimes they’re eviscerated in the drug busts in another cell block.

The prison psych notices his interest in herbs. A few months later and there’s a planter in the yard. An edible garden will be good for the inmates, she thinks. Especially Richter. Something to do with their hands. Caring and nurturing skills to be indulged. Besides, greenery is good medicine for the soul. Richter’s invited to help with the gardening project. For the weekend, he almost seems happy. Two weeks after the garden is planted, all the mint plants go missing. Everyone knows where they’ve gone. Nobody says anything. When Richter sees how hard everyone works to replace them, he promises himself he won’t do it again. He gets yelled at once for chewing on the wild sorrel that he weeds out of the planter box, but only once. Other inmates on gardening duty learn not to uproot it unless it’s smothering another plant. Some even bring him the yellow-flowered stalks. They don’t last very long in Richter’s room, but he keeps a vase for them now, and the guards find this encouraging.

Still, it’s not enough. They find him in the showers one day with a crude blade, wrists bleeding. No one knows how it got in. Some think it might have been something salvaged and sharpened from a broken piece of a gardening tool, but nothing in the shed is damaged. No one knows. The cuts were methodical. It’s a miracle that he lived. The nurses have a hard time getting him to eat in the medical bay, but they let Rilena come at the advice of the prison psych. She somehow gets him well again. Maybe because she’s the last bit of Aster he has and he can’t bear to see her so sad.

A good chunk of the mess hall erupts into cheers when he walks back in for the first time in a long time. Someone pulls out his chair for him. He’s handed about 20 desserts and the prisoners on kitchen duty make him a special plate. Someone from the garden hands him a bouquet of sorrel flowers and mint leaves. But he won’t eat. He just stares down at the plates in front of him. Empty. The big guy who gave Richter a black eye during the first fight Richter picked sits down beside him. He puts the food in Richter’s mouth, makes Richter eat.

One of the new guys tries to make a crack about it and the guards have to get involved in the uproar that ensues. The wisecracker is escorted to the medical bay with a bloody nose and a cracked rib.

Someone smuggles him a bottle of moonshine that the prisoners have been brewing in the toilets. Richter is disgusted at first, but when things get bad, he goes for it. He downs the whole thing in an hour in the dead of night. It wasn’t enough. Still, he’s grateful that for a while he could at least pretend to be dead.

The prison psych puts him on pills, but they don’t help. She stops when they seem to make it all worse. Uppers just make him tense and combative, and tranqs exacerbate the depression. The only thing worse than watching Richter walk around like a zombie is watching him pop a pill that makes him zone out for hours on end. Richter can’t tell if he likes the pills or not. Sometimes they make him forget entire days. Sometimes he feels like he could puke them up, save them for later, and end himself with them when there’s enough, but by the time he even thinks of that, the psych pulls him off another drug and sobers him up. He decides it’s for the best. Some days they made him feel like shit and it would take too long to kill him that way. Besides, they’d know what it was and what to give him to save him if he didn’t OD fast enough.

Rilena visits again. She’s brought a friend. It’s for a conjugal visit, she says. Richter tries not to show how much he hates the idea. He sits in the room with her, begs her to tell Rilena they’ve done it so she’ll stop this. The woman asks if she’s not pretty enough. Richter shakes his head. Rilena’s back the next week with a guy friend this time. She says she knew he had lied. Richter doesn’t even bother taking him back. No use in pretense. Rilena keeps trying. Brunets, redheads, blonds, she even found a willing elf with a nice pale blue. Richter asks her to stop trying. One day she comes in with a young blond. He’s got green eyes and a demure air about him. Richter’s just about had enough. Rilena’s holding back tears. “Please. Just try. I’ve paid good money for this one. Please.”

Richter can’t say no. He doesn’t want Rilena to have spent money on nothing. The blond is frisky at first, then gentle. Richter’s never done it before. The blond is young but experienced. He makes sure Richter finishes. They do it twice. Richter asks Rilena not to spend money on him again, but she does. The blond comes back a few times. Richter only gives it a go one more time. Eventually, he stops coming. Richter isn’t sure whether Rilena stopped trying or the professional figured out he could just stay home and get paid for nothing. He was half right on both counts. Rilena got a refund.

Brute gets transferred in eventually. The prisons in Tethe’alla are run better and Brute’s been a model citizen so far. Richter tries to start something, but Brute’s nothing but gentle with him. Richter avoids contact. Marta comes to visit. Apparently she’s on parole for good behavior. Her sentence was far lighter, being a minor and having minimal involvement along with being a major factor in disbanding the Vanguard. The unusual part is that Marta comes to visit for more than her father. She volunteers at an animal shelter now. There’s an animal enrichment program for non-violent prisoners. Someone signs Richter up for it. He attends. There’s a session dedicated to teaching dogs basic tricks. By the end of the week, Richter’s got his dog to manage to sit and stay and come, but not much else without a treat incentive. On the weekend they get to play fetch and run some laps with the dogs in the yard. Marta’s finally stopped glaring at Richter.

They do a second run of the program with cats. Richter signs himself up. He regrets it. He thought he could avoid attachment. He just wanted to do some good before trying to leave this world again. But there’s this little tortoiseshell kitten. She’s black and red and timid with the softest, smoothest fur. All the cats are nervous in this new environment and many of them hide under chairs or in their carriers for most of the first session. Marta explains that the less interested you seem in the cats, the more likely they are to approach you. Direct, unwavering eye contact is a threat in cat body language, and it takes a lot of time and human contact for cats to unlearn that. Richter is a prime candidate for this exercise. He avoids looking at everyone these days. The tortoiseshell kitten approaches Richter, mewling. She makes herself at home in his lap. The other inmates are jealous. Richter is devastated. “Don’t get attached, fluffball. You’ll be back home at the end of the week and in a forever home before I’m eligible for parole.” This seems to be a warning to himself more than the cat.

He keeps attending. He doesn’t want the prison psych to drill him about dropping the program, so he endures. The kitten grows fond of him. He learns her nickname they use at the shelter. Cherie. He tries to forget it. She mewls loudly when he stops petting her and is the most gentle when Marta goes over claw caps and the ethics of not declawing a cat. Richter puts little pink caps on her claws and she only tries to flick them off her feet a couple times. Richter’s chest is aching. The program gets extended for another week since the cats and prisoners are responding well. Cherie is soon the first cat out of her carrier, and she’s immediately in Richter’s lap. She eats out of his hand and dozes on his shoulder when he holds her. When the program’s over, Marta gives him a candid photo of himself with Cherie. He keeps it with the pictures of Aster.

Eventually, Marta comes to visit again. Not for the program, not for her daddy, but for Richter. He’s surprised to see that she’s his visitor. She starts with a little small talk. Cherie was adopted. The family is very happy with her. Richter tries to look enthused. She goes over things Rilena has told him already. There’s a memorial plaque at Sybak for Aster, now, and a tree in the quad planted in his honor. Aster’s mother started a grant program in his name. Richter relays that this is not news and frankly not something he wants to talk about anyway. Marta finally comes out with it. The reason she’s here. “I was cruel to you. And I’m sorry. I said terrible things to you in the Ginnungagap. Emil was your friend, too. I wasn’t thinking about how that would hurt you on top of everything else. I also want to say… I forgive you. For everything that happened. I can’t know what you felt through all this, but I feel like I understand now why you did what you did. And all I can think is that… if only we’d spoken more when you showed up to the Vanguard. If only I’d gotten to know you better. Maybe we’d be looking at a completely different world right now.”

“Don’t,” Richter says, shaking his head. “I don’t want your apologies or forgiveness. I didn’t deserve them then and I don’t deserve them now.” Marta is taken aback by this. Richter leaves without acknowledging her protests. He doesn’t meet with her when she tries to visit again. He doesn’t sign up for more programs with the animals.

_I'm a goner, somebody catch my breath_

It’s been a few years. He’s gotten close, but they always stop him. They always heal him. The Centurions are struggling. The one time Aqua tried to visit him was cut short. The monsters are restless and some of them mindless without Ratatosk. Those that were loyal simply can’t endure his absence. The weather is growing wilder. Less and less of the planet is habitable. They’re only hanging on by the skin of their teeth. The centurions seem to have focused on keeping the habitable and fertile places stable. Everything else has gone to Nifelheim in a handbasket.

Richter wants to die more than ever. He’d be one less mouth taking up resources in the world he doomed. He doesn’t want to see it in a thousand year’s time. There’s nothing he can do from within these prison walls to help. He confides in some people that this is his fault. Only the prison psych believes him.

The garden is suffering. Even the sorrel has a hard time hanging on.

Rilena visits again, for the first time in a year. She apologizes for being away so long. She’s been trying to correct the weather crisis. Richter gives her full access to his notes. She thanks him, but they both share a knowing look. Richter’s expertise in meteorology was based on a stable world. A world that no longer remains. His notes are of very little use. She comes with news. She’s married now. She shows him pictures. Her partner is very attractive. They’ve adopted a child together. Rilena asks if Richter will be the child’s godfather. Richter declines. His cynicism peaks.

“Tell me you didn’t just adopt a child to try to anchor me to this world.”

“Of course not. We wanted a child. Though I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t be nice if the idea of being a part of the child’s life gave you the incentive to try for parole.”

Richter scoffs, handing the picture of the child back to her. “Please. Just forget about me. Take care of your family. And… keep trying to save this world… the world he died for.” Richter stands to leave.

“Wait! Don’t you at least want to know her name?” Richter stops, dreading that he’ll hear the name that’s been on his mind for all these years.

Silence. “Well? Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Hope.” Rilena sighs. “Her name is Hope.”

“When’s her birthday?”

Rilena perks up. “April 15th.”

“I’ll send her a birthday card.” But he never does. He never planned to. He doesn’t want to give the child a reason to miss him someday. He can only pray that the world improves for her someday.

He doesn’t make it to age 30. He’s in the yard when it happens. The new guy with the bright eyes has been glaring at him for weeks. He doesn’t even flinch when he feels it. “This is for all those lies, Abend. You had no love for the Sylveranti, did you? You just wanted us as pawns in your little crusade. I had family, Abend. Friends. And I could have given that up for the cause. But you never believed in any of it, did you? You chickened out and got yourself a cozy little jail cell to live in on our dime while the rest of the world burns around you.” The Vanguard mook twists the blade. “Not anymore.”

Richter grabs the handle of the shiv, fingers trembling. There’s a metallic taste on his tongue. The attacker flinches as Richter drives the blade in deeper. “What the hell?”

“Thank you.” It’s all Richter can say as he removes the blade from his gut. He falls to his knees, collapses into the grass. It’s dry for the season, but it still smells sweet. His last memories are of a sterile room, beeping, anxious voices. He can’t feel his body. They gave him something for the pain. The ceiling is blue, and the light is like the sun. It didn’t hurt like he thought it would, slipping away. 

Colette is crying. They go to the funeral. Lloyd doesn’t tell anyone much, but she knows. Martel is struggling. The tree is still weak. The world is in upheaval. And now Richter is gone.

Rilena is crying. The body is buried in a shallow grave near the Otherworldy Gate. Richter never asked for his grave to be marked, but Aster’s… he gave the specifications for that himself, and the funds were allocated per his will. It didn’t stop Lloyd and the others from giving him his own tombstone. And a third. 

_I wanna be known by you_

_I wanna be known by you_

“Here lies Aster Laker who gave his life in the pursuit of science trying to save the world. A talented researcher and beloved friend. 3184 - 3200.” Words Richter gave what he had left to immortalize the boy.

“Here lies Richter Abend, a man of conviction. He gave up everything doing what he thought was right and was repaid unkindly. Remember him as a companion of heroes, a man prepared to endure eternal suffering to save the world. 3182 - 3211.” They’re words Emil would have wanted.

“Here lies Emil Castagnier and Ratatosk, sealed together forever beneath the earth. Treasured companions and heroes who gave their lives to seal away the demons of Nifelheim. Died 3203.” They’re words Marta wrote.

Each stone was marked to match Aster’s. “Courage is the Magic that turns Dreams into Reality.” A beautiful and damnable phrase that connected the dead eternally.


End file.
